14 THE DANCE
OF DEATH.
to the spot, followed by those on whom devolved the mournful task of removing the wounded and the dead. We marched as if nothing had hap- pened, to perform the task appointed for us, that of placing our supplies of powder under cover in a distant magazine. Chance had made Emanuel my companion. We worked hard and spoke but little. 1 felt, however, that the dislike I had at first so decidedly felt to the young man, od fast giving place to a warm sympathy for his sufferings. 1 had obtained a partial glance into a dark but wounded spirit, and had seen enough to incline me to ascribe the startling circum- stances of his character, to a mind anxiously labouring to deceive itself as to its true situation. I und “whether the visible sympathy which 1 manifested, contrasted with my former cold- ness, had affected him also with a similar emotion; but so it was, that when the night summoned us to rest, we parted like old and trusty friends, with a warm pressure of the hand.
“I had occasion the next day to be the bearer of various orders, and, among others, one ad- dressed to Emanuel. I entered unperceived— (he had not heard my gentle tap at the door)— into a comfortable apartment, but in a state of even more than student-like confusion;—a cir- cumstance the more striking, that at that time both old and young generally kept their whole effects as carefully packed as possible, that they might the more easily be transported, in the event of their habitations being set on fire by the bom- bardment.
“He was seated at a large table, covered with “ books and painting materials; his head rested on both his hands, and he was gazing attentively on a small miniature painting. [tis the same which “ lies near me, and which has so deeply attracted your attention, only it was then unframed, the ivory being merely pasted upon the paper. I had-time to look at it, for he did not observe me till I laid my hand upon his shoulder; the gay and animated grace which seemed shed over the figure, struck me perhaps the morg, from the contrast it presented to the living, but drooping and desponding young man, who had but yester- day lost a friend, and whose deep desolation of heart had so plainly revealed itself on that oc- casion.
He started up as he felt the pressure of my hand, and almost involuntarily drew the paper over the miniature. “ How now?’ said I; “is it with so sad an aspect that you regard this lovely portrait, whose charming features are sufficient to inspire any one with cheerfulness; particularly since this successful effort seems to be the work of your own hands? My poor friend! have I guessed the cause of your melancholy—Is it love —unfortunate, hopeless love?’
“Most unfortunate,’ said he, interrupting me, a: continued he, “ you have already
glance of it, so look at it as you will: I do inAruth consider it as one of my most successful attempts, and the more so, that no one sat for it. It was the mind that guided the pencil.’ So say- ing, he again uncovered the miniature.
“With increasing astonishment and delight
did I gaze upon those lovely features; I was fas-
cinated; I could not turn my eyes from them;
the longer they rested on the picture, the deeper
I felt its magic sink into my heart. I could not
divest myself of the idea, that this portrait must
represent the object of my friend’s attachment.
And the very idea of seeing, knowing, loving so
angelic a being as it presented itself to my mind,
seemed more than a counterpoise for all the diffi-
culties, all the miseries of life.
“I have heard it said,’ said I at last,“ that all married people, and all lovers, have a certairi resemblance to each other; I cannot say that I have in general found it so, but for once it strikes me the saying*is right. I think,’ said I, compar- ing him with the portrait, “ I think 1 can here and there recognise some traits of your features.’
“Very possibly,’ he replied, “ very likely— for the picture is that of my sister.’
“I knew not why at that moment, but I felt that this explanation filled my bosom with inde- scribable joy. “ Your sister?’ replied!, hastily —“ happy brother who can boast of such a sister! What is her name?’
“He was silent; I raised my eyes from the picture to fix them upofi him. He was pale, and seemed not to have heard my question. I re- peated it. He looked at me with a fixed stare, and answered as hesitatingly as I myself did even now. “Her name is——I cannot tell!’
“¢ You cannot tell?’ said I, with astonishment.
- ¢ O persecute.me not,’ cried he, springing up
with impatience—“ ask me not—you have touched a wound that still festers in my heart.’
“I laid down the picture in confusion; a strange suspicion, which struck me dumb, sprang up at that moment in my mind. I began to fear that by seme strange mental aberratign, his love for this angelic sister might be éban fra- ternal; and resolved at once never to touch upon a subject so dangerous. a
“TI left him; but chance threw’us together again in the course of the evening; for a_fire, occasioned by the bursting of a bomb, took place in his lodging. On the first intelligence of this disaster, I hurried along with some friends who were not known to him, to his Mpuse. He was standing quietly in his room, giving himself no concern «bout his effects, and apparently duubt- ful whether he would take the trouble of saving himself or not. I succeeded in wing him away almost by force; but the greater part of his small possessions was consumed. From that moment he seemed to attach himself exclusively to me;—every day during our military compa- nionship his society in turn became dearer to me, so that at last the very defects in his character which had at first sight appeared to me so repul- sive, now that I had begun to look upon his conduct from a different point of view, presented themselves in an interesting light, as the efforts of a mind struggling against despair; and the inelancholf Erhanuel (not perhaps without some reference to his lovely sister) became to me an object of the warmest sympathy and friendship.
